Changes

And then before you know it, you're sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by key chains and cats and tea cups.

Back to reality

Stacks of paper

Holding memories

Stacked like coffee table books.

And then before I knew it I was remembering what it was like to travel the world, from afar.

I was no longer present: it was now in my past.

And I was different.

I was changed.

I wake up and forget where I am.

Oh, to know one home my whole life.

And now to be lost when I look out the window and see weeds and decking instead of squirrels and storm clouds.

And before I could blink, I was no longer wrapped in your arms for comfort but facing the future with forced independence and a facade of furled lips.

The shops have changed, the streets have grown, and new apartments block out the sheep that once roamed freely on my way to work. 

So I take a new route.

I get lost.

I adjust.

I learn.

And before I knew it, I learn that the funny thing about home is exactly what everyone has always told me: it's not a place. It's a feeling.

But I didn't take it with me. 

I feel I left it behind by accident because I didn't know I needed it. 

And now I wake up in the morning lost, disoriented, 

but radiant. A new beginning. A life loved.

The meaning of life is not the places, it's not even the music. It's the people and the memories and the feelings. It's creating and loving and living. Who knew?

The tears fall through streams of consciousness in the hazy light when I open my blinds and look outwards at my new beginnings.

Make your mark. See where it takes you next.

The purpose of life is to love and be loved: anywhere, always, everywhere.

And again.